


Silver Scotland, or A Story About A Hippogriff

by zealousprince



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Azkaban, hippogriff POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zealousprince/pseuds/zealousprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Buckbeak had known what he was getting into, he never would have let Sirius onto his back in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Scotland, or A Story About A Hippogriff

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2010 and betaed by the ever-wondeful [Phiso](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Phiso/pseuds/Phiso). :D

**Silver Scotland, or A Story About A Hippogriff**

If Buckbeak had known what he was getting into, he never would have let Sirius onto his back in the first place.

Granted, neither of them had had much of a choice back then. Things had been rather desperate, a fact that Buckbeak did them both the courtesy of acknowledging. They had not chosen each other in their hour of need; fate had chosen them. He was not such a foolish hippogriff that he would attempt to deny this.

Still, the fact remained that Sirius Black was not exactly the ideal accomplice that Buckbeak had imagined while fantasizing about his grand escape. For one thing, Sirius was a wizard, not a fellow hippogriff like Buckbeak would have originally wanted. He would have settled with almost any sort of magical creature, really, but instead, he had gotten a wizard. Not even a nice, odd wizard like Mister Hagrid, but an honest to Merlin pureblood brat, if Sirius’ frequent ramblings were any indication. It was really just his luck.

Buckbeak did have to grudgingly admit – not to Sirius, of course – that his new wizard companion was not all that bad, all things considered. He wriggled a lot while they were flying and pulled his feathers when he held too hard. He also snored and kicked in his sleep, usually took ages to light a fire because his wandless magic was impaired by his recurrent state of distraction, and he tended to talk _a lot_ , but all in all, it really could have been worse. Which was what Buckbeak kept telling himself on the days when food was a little scarcer and Sirius began to look less like a wizard and more like an extremely lean piece of meat. Buckbeak may be a hippogriff, but he was not a _rude_ hippogriff, and devouring one’s companions, no matter how chatty and useless they may be, was most definitely considered rude. So he endured.

Sirius was scared of him at first, at least a little. This was quite understandable. He was a mighty hippogriff, after all. The wizards tended to fear him more often than not, which was probably why he had gotten into that mess with the short fat wizard with the silly hat and the big tall wizard with the axe. Most of the bad things that happened to hippogriffs were the result of a wizard’s fear. Buckbeak knew this all too well. 

He missed his brother and sister some days, but well, that could not be helped. At least he had Sirius to distract him from those things. It seemed that Buckbeak’s new friend had had his fair share of troubles from the wizards as well, so in that, at least, they were united.

Buckbeak found that Sirius had soon begun to trust him, and thus to fear him less, which was all right, he supposed. In fact, it was a bit of a relief, to be treated like a friend and not like some big dangerous thing bent on tearing a man’s innards out. People’s innards had never really been of much interest to him, which was why he was constantly perplexed by the wizards’ intense and continued belief that theirs were in imminent danger when in his company. It was really quite strange, and many times Buckbeak would have very much liked to tell them, “I say, good fellow, I have absolutely no inclination to gut, disembowel, or otherwise maim you, so if you would please calm down, it would be ever so appreciated”. Unfortunately, most wizards were not very receptive to what a hippogriff would have to say, so he never found the opportunity. It was their loss, really. They should wish that every hippogriff was as well-spoken and thoughtful as him. If he was to be completely honest, some of his kind could be complete brutes. But he guessed it was the same with wizards.

Sirius talked a lot about wizards, actually. The ones he knew, or had known. From what Buckbeak could gather, a fair few of them were dead. Those were the ones Sirius talked about the most. A Prongs, and a Tulip or a Begonia or something (or was it a Lily? He had never been much for flowers), mostly, whom it seems were quite close to Buckbeak’s new companion, back when they were all fledglings with their wings hardly grown in. There was another too, a Moony, or something sounding like it, which even Buckbeak had to admit was a bit of a strange name for a wizard, but he was not one to judge. In any case, it was an altogether better name than Witherwings, which apparently was secret wizarding code for “Buckbeak”, and was what Sirius would refer to him as whenever he wrote those letters to the fledgling wizard who had delivered them both from the man with the axe. And because Buckbeak doubted that Sirius knew that a hippogriff’s wings were actually a great source of pride for him and should most definitely not be described as “withered”, and because he was a gracious hippogriff, when need be, he refrained from commenting. 

There was one other person whom Sirius talked about more often than most, and usually in conjunction with Prongs, Daisy-or-whatever, and Moony. It was a wizard by the name of “Wormtail”, “Pettigrew”, or “Fucking Pissant Rat”, depending on Sirius’ mood, and did not seem to be someone Sirius held in especially high regard. Yet there was a definite sadness in his hollowed eyes when he spoke of him, something deeper than the hate, that made the grey of his irises become sharp and very bright, like the moon. And Buckbeak never really knew what to do except snort against his front talons and shoot Sirius a look that clearly said, “Just forget about the stupid git, if it bothers you so much”. But Sirius would only smile wanly and shake his head, and Buckbeak knew he did not understand. 

So the hours, and the days, and the weeks passed, during which Buckbeak and Sirius had nothing but small dark caves, and stormy skies, and rats, and each other.

=====

  


“I miss Remus.”

It was the first Buckbeak had heard of this name. They were somewhere quite far from where they had started, all those weeks ago at the place where Mister Hagrid had visited him and his former flock members, back where he had lost his temper against that arrogant pale fledgling wizard and landed himself in that trouble with the axe man. Now they were in some place completely different, almost entirely devoid of his birthplace’s leafy green trees and wispy grey skies and fat black rats in every smallest nook. In this place there was sun and sand and tall, weird trees, and not many rats but birds aplenty, all in fluorescent colours. These tasted substantially better than rats, a fact much appreciated by both man and hippogriff at such a time.

And now Sirius was talking about a Remus, as he sat sprawled in the shade of a palm tree (“Muggles love these things,” Sirius had told him upon arrival, grinning like a wild dog and gesturing enthusiastically up and down the slender trunk. “Always putting them on their little postycards and what-not.”), absently tapping the point of a pen against a sheaf of white paper. He was supposed to be writing a letter to his favourite fledgling wizard, an activity that Sirius usually undertook with much seriousness and silence. But today, he was distracted. He had seemed distracted for a while – more than usual, anyhow – and now Buckbeak knew why, although his understanding of this “why” was not yet any deeper.

Sirius did not say anything more for some time, although Buckbeak waited patiently, even as his freshest kill was leaking blood onto the sand. Then he suddenly spoke up again, just as Buckbeak was growing bored and beginning to return to his meal.

“I miss him something terrible, actually,” Sirius went on, slouching farther against the tree. “I didn’t really get to say goodbye. Or hello, for that matter. There wasn’t enough...time. There never really seems to be enough time anymore.”

And he turned his shadowed grey eyes toward Buckbeak in the gesture of a man pleading to be listened to. Buckbeak snorted onto the sand and decided it would be quite rude to be eating while his only friend was pouring his heart out to him, so opted for swallowing as much of the bird carcass as he possibly could in two quick bites. Then he cleaned his beak off cursorily with a talon and shuffled across the sand, until he was within arm’s reach of Sirius. In a natural gesture, Sirius reached out to settle his hand on the feathered ruff around Buckbeak’s neck. Buckbeak let him. There had been an unspoken, brotherly kind of trust between them for some time now, born out of necessity and nurtured through friendship.

Sirius started again, “He was the best out of all of us, you know. Remus...that’s Moony, by the way,” he added for Buckbeak’s benefit, and Buckbeak shifted his head in acquiesce, equating “wizard Moony” to “wizard Remus” in his mind. “I guess I’ve never called him by name before...anyway, Moony...Remus...like I said, he was the best out of all of us Marauders. I mean, Prongs and I were brilliant, of course, and even that Fucking Pissant Rat was all right before he sold us out to Voldemort, but Remus was...I dunno...different, somehow. Not any less brilliant, or any more. Just different. And not just because of the lycanthropy, mind you. Nothing to do with the wolf.”

Sirius looked sorrowful at this for some reason and was quiet for a moment, long enough for Buckbeak to think that wolves were not really that bad, and that he could in fact eat a wolf if he really wanted to. Buckbeak would have said as much to Sirius if he did not seem so upset, but being a tactful sort of hippogriff, he figured that perhaps this was not the right time for such a comment. 

In front of them, the sea was frothy and green, and reflected the sunlight as it rushed back and forth. It was a sound quite foreign to Buckbeak, who had grown up in the foggy grey safety of the Scottish moors. Here it was warm, and safe, and nice too, but it was not really home. Some days he dearly wanted to go back, and was now suspecting that Sirius was wishing the same.

“At least he doesn’t hate me anymore,” Sirius said, breaking the silence of the waves, “not that it matters so much. It’s been a long time. Thirteen years. Almost as long as Harry (‘This is Sirius’ favourite fledgling wizard,’ Buckbeak thought, feeling quite proud with himself at having remembered) has been alive. It’s been too long. Too much damage has been done. Even though he does know I’m innocent now, we still can’t...go back. To how things were before.”

Sirius shifted against him, dropping the pen and leaving the half-written letter forgotten on the sand. Obligingly, Buckbeak moved a little closer and allowed Sirius to push his face and wasted limbs up against his plumage, although it was nearing midday and the strange shimmering heat was becoming cloying. They remained this way for some time, breathing almost as one, as the water pushed back and forth with a sound like myriad muddled voices, or the familiar, faraway rush of giant feathered wings.

“We loved each other. Remus and I. We were in love, before all the bad things happened. Did I tell you?”

Buckbeak tossed his head a little at this. It was news to him, but he chose to let Sirius interpret the gesture as he would. Sirius nodded his head carefully, looking thoughtful and tired, before going on. “I must have, then. Hard not to. I’ve been thinking about it for some time. I don’t suppose hippogriffs like to mate with members of their own sex every once in a while?” (Buckbeak shrugged one massive shoulder; he had never really given it much thought.) “Well, humans do sometimes. At least, I think so. I’ve never met any others before, but it’s a bit hard to believe Moony and I were the only ones. Now that I think about it, my old uncle Alphard might have been one,” Sirius went on after a pause. “An invert, as Mother would say. He never said so, but I suspected. Didn’t ever have the chance to ask him, though. It’s prolly what got him burned off the tapestry. Anyway...keep a secret, mate?”

Buckbeak snorted noncommittally, but apparently this was enough incentive for Sirius to continue.

“I think I might still fancy Moony. Remus. I mean, not just fancy...I might still be in love with him. I thought Azkaban would siphon all those kinds of feelings from me after being there for so long, but...”

Sirius stopped, his fingers curling against Buckbeak’s side. He tipped his head as though listening to the sound of the waves, or a far-off voice. 

“I think I...need to talk to him. Now that the stuff about Peter is out in the open. I need to talk to him and just make sure that things are...all right. That’s not stupid, is it? To want to know my mate...friend is all right?”

Again, Buckbeak shrugged, not entirely sure how to react to his wizard companion’s revelations. He had never had trouble going after a potential mate back home, so why should Sirius? 

Neither of them said anything or moved for a few long minutes. The sun had reached its zenith, its rays beating directly down on their heads. The bird carcass Buckbeak had left was beginning to be visited by huge black flies that buzzed and flew around in triumphant circles, as though they had been the ones to fell the mighty beast. 

Finally, Sirius jumped up, releasing Buckbeak’s feathers to exuberantly slap the sand from his trousers. Then he turned toward the hippogriff, all dark flying hair and bright eyes and lines around his now-smiling mouth.

“Well then, enough about that! I need to finish writing to Harry. Don’t eat that bird, please,” he beseeched, indicating a brightly coloured one perched rather haughtily on a branch a ways into the tropical forest, “I think it’s more magic than the others, so I need it to deliver my letter. And did I tell you I actually managed to get off the other day? It’s been _years_. It was _brilliant_.”

Buckbeak made a gruff sound of exasperation and settled down to nap under the sun. He had been worried for nothing. Sirius would be fine.

=====

  


It was at night, weeks after that, that Sirius finally came to his senses.

Sirius still lit a fire every night on their little beach, to ward away the creatures that might come skulking out from the weird tropical forest under cover of night, maintaining that he was saving Buckbeak the trouble of having to scare any trespassers away himself. Buckbeak did not mind too much, as he was growing indolent from the many simple luxuries of their secluded island home. And he was, once again, being the bigger hippogriff by refraining from slyly suggesting that the dark made Sirius nervous and jumpy, and that he much preferred to sleep by the hot sparking roar of a magically lit fire.

One would think that Sirius would know better, after all this time. Not one creature, magical or otherwise, would dare to approach him with a hippogriff by his side. 

That night, Sirius traced a few preventive wards around the perimeter of their camping site and lit the evening’s fire with an easy gesture and a word. Buckbeak settled familiarly by the flames as Sirius stood back, smirking and admiring his handiwork.

“Just like the old days,” he declared, then winced. “Urgh. Never thought I’d say anything like that. Used to be I thought I’d be young forever. We all did.”

He stared into the heart of the flames for some time as Buckbeak watched him from the corner of his eye, then sighed and settled down on the sand with his back against a wind-smoothed rock face. He let his head fall back to lean against it, and seemed for a long moment to be sleeping.

Across the beach, the surf was beating gently back and forth, like a heartbeat. Buckbeak tucked his wings down around himself and closed his eyes, focusing on the steady sound of the water, and breathing in time. Eventually, he slept.

A rustle in the fronds roused him later, instinct spurring him awake. He rose in a spray of white sand and was at the forest edge in a single beat of his enormous wings, and snuffled in the brush for any sign of trouble. Nothing. He snorted in disgust. Bad enough he was on the run with the man, now Sirius’ paranoia was rubbing off on him as well. There was truly no end to the list of terrible things wizards wrought upon innocent hippogriffs such as himself. 

Appeased, Buckbeak turned and settled by the fire pit again. The flames had almost died all the way down, leaving nothing but a smouldering core of ashes and charcoal. The embers pulsed red and orange in the darkness. Buckbeak lay his head down on his front talons and gazed at the remains of the fire, his mind wandering as it often did back to the memories of his homeland. He missed the forest he had grown up in, missed the evergreens – or what the wizards called evergreens, for they had only ever seemed grey to him, grey and silver and black in the moonlight – and the stony crags and the great shining lakes, the silver skies and the blustery northern wind rushing through his feathers. He missed home.

Buckbeak sighed, or sighed as much as a hippogriff possibly could, which is to say he grunted and expelled his breath violently through his arched nostrils, so that displaced sand scattered over the dying embers. Frustrated, he finished the job with a sweep of one massive wing, effectively burying the last of the fire in sand. Then he grunted again, let his wings fall despondently around him, and sulked in the dark like a fledgling.

There was a pause, during which distant creatures scuffled and scurried in the trees, and the bright moonlight washed the world in a foreign blue glow. Then there was careful movement to Buckbeak’s left and Sirius edged closer, his outline sharply lit and his face shadowed but for his eyes, which reflected the moon like the silver tips of Buckbeak’s wings, or the reflecting pools he remembered from his far-off childhood.

Slowly, Sirius sat down in the sand next to Buckbeak and settled back against his warm feathered flank. He placed one cool, bony hand on the ruff at his neck, offering comfort and receiving it all at once.

After a moment’s hesitation, Buckbeak thought, “Sod this,” and turned to curl in on himself, placing his heavy head next to Sirius’ hips and flicking his tail around to rest at Sirius’ knees. He reckoned he ought to feel a little responsible for Sirius’ well-being; after all, his wizard friend had just spent more seasons than Buckbeak knew what to do with in a wizard captivity of some kind, which was more than long enough to drive even a hippogriff mad, not to mention a human. As the more able of the two, Buckbeak had a responsibility to pull them both out of this alive. 

The sharp crinkle of paper brought Buckbeak back from his solemn musings. Sirius was holding a slightly crumpled sheet of parchment in his free hand, and was staring down at it although the writing was almost illegible by moonlight. 

Then, he said, “We have to go back, Buckbeak. I need to go back. I have to be with Harry.”

Buckbeak made a low hum of acquiesce and tossed the tip of his tail once against Sirius’ legs. Of course we need to go back, you stupid man. We never should have left. Home. Let’s go home.

Sirius had begun to carefully stroke the top of Buckbeak’s head, so Buckbeak settled down for sleep again, already dreaming of pine boughs and silver fog rolling over the hills.

“I need to go back. Harry needs me. Bollocks to Dumbledore. Harry _needs_ me.”

Buckbeak grunted in assent and opened his eyes. He lifted his head, surprising Sirius, and gestured up towards the sky. Towards the moon.

Sirius followed his gaze blankly upward, then it clicked and he gave a short, bark-like laugh, throwing his head back against Buckbeak’s side.

“Hah! Yes, yes, and to see Moony too. I hope that I can, at least. I would like to.”

He stroked Buckbeak’s feathers thoughtfully, and though Buckbeak was starting to feel like his plumage was getting seriously ruffled up in the entirely wrong direction, he let him. One could say he had learned to trust the man as well, although if asked, Buckbeak would most likely never admit it. If there was one thing he was not going to be robbed of, it was his pride.

The water swished on, heedless as time itself, and night creatures ran and flapped in the forest. But the sounds were merely echoes in the backs of their minds, for their thoughts were far away across the ocean, in the skies above glassy Scottish waters and between the trees by quiet Scottish banks, and by the sides of fledgling wizards and in the arms of loved ones from a time passed.

And the sound of the tide washed over it all, colouring their dreams with distant voices that called from across the sea.

=====

  


They breakfasted on fruit and fish in the faded darkness of pre-dawn. Sirius wrote one more letter to Harry, and sent it ahead.

Buckbeak was standing impatiently on the beach, just out of reach of the slow crawl of the ocean. He shuffled in the sand, tossing his head and snorting at Sirius to hurry his skinny arse up. Home was calling him, pulling at his wings and urging him to fly and fly until the ocean became land and the land became silver Scotland, his true home at last.

Finally, Sirius finished packing up his few belongings and slung his pack over his shoulders. He cast one last, hesitating look to the tropical forest in all its green finery, but ultimately turned away with resolution. Home.

Sirius hefted himself up onto Buckbeak’s back, positioning his knees carefully behind his wing joints and grasping the thick band of feathers around his neck with a practiced grip. Then he took in a deep breath, held it, and let it out in a rush of air.

“Are we ready?” he asked, and grinned when Buckbeak stamped one irritated foot into the sand as an answer. “All right, then, my friend, we’re off. Just you watch, Buckbeak,” Sirius added in a lower voice, “I’m going to go back and make everything right again. With Harry, and with–”

Buckbeak jerked his head up toward the perfect blue sky, and although it was the sun that was out this time, Sirius understood.

“Yes! And with Moony too! With Remus! Everything...everything will be made right again.”

And this was all that they needed. With the wild, ecstatic cry of a free animal, Buckbeak reared up on his powerful hind legs as Sirius scrabbled for purchase and laughed like a young man again, and then they were off, man and beast running and leaping and flying off as one.

With a few mighty beats of the hippogriff’s wings, they were aloft and soaring, higher and higher until the island was a mere speck in the vast blue ocean, and they no more than a dark shape against a horizon that bloomed with the first light of dawn.

  


**The End**  



End file.
